Disclaimers in part 01
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"Fear is the cheapest room in the house.
I would like to see you living
In better conditions"
~~Hafiz, translated by Daniel Ladinsky -- The Gift~~
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TUESDAY, JUNE 27, 2000
LONE GUNMAN OFFICES
8:30 P.M.
LANGLY:
What a day. And I don't mean it in a good way, either. After Byers forced me to eat when I wasn't hungry, I went back to Deb's room. The good news is, she was a lot more awake this afternoon. The bad news is, she was sick and puking the entire time. I was squicking, and a couple times I thought I'd lose it, but I made myself stay and hold her hair back and say things to her to try and make her feel better. All this, with her Mom and Dad watching me like they expected me to jump her bones right then and there.
Yeah, right, I'd really jump her bones while I'm in the middle of cleaning up after her. I bet you bucks they think I had something to do with her getting hurt. I just feel it in them. They don't say anything, but I can tell.
It got to Deb, too. Soon as they left, she burst out crying, and kept crying for like an hour. Crying women unnerve me. I never know what to do, especially when there's nothing I can do. I think Deb's glad her folks love her and all, but having them here when she's really hurting, and listening to them rant and argue and carry on, it's not good for her.
I think what really did it was when Deb was saying there's no way in hell she's leaving DC. Her fellowship's here, and then she said, 'Ringo's here.' I think that went over about like a bomb over Hiroshima.
Finally, it's 8 o'clock, and I hate leaving Deb but I'm so glad to be outta there. I had to run to the bathroom three times this afternoon to suck on my inhaler. After Mr. SaintJohn made a nasty crack the first time, I made sure he didn't see me. It's not like I want to have this stupid asthma. Made life hell on a farm, I'll tell you that much. Not that my folks cared, they were like, what doesn't kill you makes you stronger. I'm not dead yet, though I had more than a few moments today where I wished lightning would come down and kill me.
This would've be a good night to get stoned, and not on whatever that shit was that Frohike slipped in my soup last night. I know he slipped me something. I wouldn't have slept like that if he hadn't. I don't know if I'm grateful or mad as hell. Maybe both.
I really, really need some dope, so before I leave, I try to give Elron a shout from one of the pay phones, but no dice. He's not home, not answering his pages. Asshole. Then I try Kimmy. He's not around, either. I don't care what it costs. I need some, big time. I figure I could go check with the guys outside the 7-11 before I get home. They've always got good stash.
Unfortunately, that plan dives out the window in short order. Right when they give last call to kick us out, Mulder shows up. I'm kind of glad to see him at first, but then he tells me he's here to take me and the 'rents home.
They get real nervous, like 'what the hell's going on?' Mulder tries to play Mr. Cool, telling 'em it's just for their own protection 'til they get everything straightened out and find out who shot Deb. I don't think they're totally buying it, but hey, it's the Fibbies, and her folks respect that. Not me. I know Mulder too well.
We drop the 'rents at the motel, and Mulder gives them his card and says call him if they need anything. We bail real fast after that.
"Rough day, eh?" Mulder asks me. He's perfectly calm. He would be. He wasn't trapped for hours on end with his girl's parents, watching her get sick and cry and be miserable.
"Jesus, Mulder, are they giving awards for asking the stupidest question you can think of? And what's the trip, here? You never do anything for me unless you want something in return."
"Langly, you wound me."
"You mind telling me what he fuck's going on?"
"We don't know jack yet. That's the problem."
"Yeah, but you think something we did is why Deb got shot."
"I wasn't sure, but ever since Kimmy almost got hit tonight--"
"Kimmy? Kimmy got what? Where? What the hell?"
"He'd left your place, and about half an hour later someone fired on him."
"Oh, holy fuck." Kimmy's a total pain in the butt, but he's a bud. Well, he was. He might be getting tired of this shit. He wouldn't be the only one. After today, I'm starting to wonder myself. "So what the hell do you think is going on, Profiler Boy?"
"Something Byers dug up while you were off boffing your ladyfriend, no doubt."
"That Area 51 stuff? Hell, what could be there to get anyone so mad at us?"
"Beats the hell out of me."
God, I hate him. He's so... calm. "What the hell kind of crusade has Byers got us on this time?"
"Haven't got a clue. Not yet, anyway."
I smack my forehead. "Oh, this is rich." People are crazy and life is strange... and getting way too much so for my taste.
We pull up to the house. "Get some sleep, Langly."
"Forget it. I got work to do." Like any of these guys has my kung fu. Right.
"Just remember, blonde boy, I'm the man with the gun here."
"Oh yeah. Like you can hit the broad side of a barn with it." I hate the bastard. I really, really hate him.
I just want to head off to my room and die, but Frohike goes into Mother Hen mode as soon as I walk in. He's got dinner all ready, and what's even worse, he expects me to eat it. I'm not hungry. I'm tired of everyone shoving food down my throat. I'm tired of everything. Hell, I'm just tired.
"You drug my food again?" I snap at Frohike.
"I go to all the trouble of making you a nice meal, and this is the thanks I get?" He's doing his unappreciated housewife schtick. We get treated to this a lot. I'm not in the mood.
"You drugged me last night."
"And what of it? You slept, which is more than I can say for the rest of us."
I stand up and head for the basement. "I got work to do."
Unfortunately, I'm not quick enough. Frohike may be little, but he's got kung fu grip. He's got an arm lock on me.
"Forget it, Blondie. Get some sleep. You're not getting near this one 'til you do."
I'm seething with rage. I could so kill him right now, just snap his thick little neck. Choke Byers with his tie. Shoot Mulder with his own damned-- Shit, I'm really losing it. "Give me the drugs and I'll go quietly." This offer's good for one night only.
FROHIKE:
Mulder's been tremendously helpful, but I'm happy as hell he's not here right now. It's bad enough dealing with Blondie. The sleeping pill's working its magic, so I won't have to put up with him much longer. I think he knows he's strung out beyond the point of useful, or even sensible. My heart aches for the kid, and for his ladylove.
Sari and Byers are still locked in the den. I can't hear a word they're saying. Too bad it's not bugged. I'd love to be a fly on the wall right now. They've been in there for well over an hour. I realize that we're in a bad situation and there's a lot to discuss, but I keep hoping that Byers finally got smart and decided to jump her.
My illusions are shattered when I knock at the door and offer them dinner. Without so much as a 'just a minute,' Byers answers the door. The knot on his tie is loosened and the top button of his shirt's undone, but that's about as much undressing as they've accomplished.
"I'm not hungry," Byers says tersely.
"John, you should at least try to eat something." Sari's voice is weary and unhappy. "Whether or not people are getting shot at due to what you found in those files, you still need to eat."
They look at each other, sigh, and head for the kitchen.
It's a sad state of affairs when the only place a man can get some peace and quiet is in the office, but I have something to do, and I don't want an audience. I need to get in touch with Mel Scarlett and let her know that the situation's getting worse. I have no doubt in my mind that They know about her, and where she is. In the immortal words of Han Solo, I've got a bad feeling about this.
I sit down to email Mel, but I'd feel better calling. Fortunately, her line is now as secure as ours. My own custom modifications made that possible. She's also delighted with her lowered long distance bill. I haven't explained that one to her, and she hasn't asked.
She should be off work by now, although she often doesn't leave the floor until long after her shift has ended. I'm not sure whether I'd feel better knowing she was on the job or at home. Neither possibility warms the cockles of my heart. Not much does right now, but I do feel much lighter and at ease when she picks up the phone. Not only does this mean I'm immediately treated to the pleasant timbre of her warm, relaxing voice, it also means that I don't need to deal with either of her obnoxious children. This is always a plus.
"How's Deborah?" is the first question she asks, of course.
"Langly says she had a rough afternoon, couldn't hold anything down."
"Unfortunately, that's normal," she says. "But otherwise things are improving?"
"Improving is a relative term." I really hate calling her, both to tell her bad news and to unload on her about my day, but she needs the former, and I'll go insane if I don't have the latter. "This wasn't a good day, milady. Deborah's condition might be improving, but whatever the hell we got ourselves into this time, it's downright ugly."
I'd really feel better if she was here with me, but that's wishful thinking on my part. The fact is, she's probably safer in Harrisburg than she'd ever be in DC. I wonder if we'll ever reach a place in our lives where we can live together, and not be watching our backs every second.
"What happened?" It sounds as if she has something in her mouth. My suspicions are confirmed when she asks me to excuse her, but she hasn't had anything to eat all day, would I mind terribly if she ate while I talked?
Not at all, I assure her. I'm just glad she's there, she's okay, and she's willing to put up with me.
"Remember I told you to take extra care right now? I'm not kidding. A friend of ours was shot at tonight." One good thing about Mel; I never need to sugarcoat things. She'd be annoyed if I did.
"Oh, my Lord. Was he injured?"
"No, thank God. He's fine, if shaken up, but he's headed underground at this point." Suddenly, the idea that Mel is safe is exposed for the illusion it is. "Dear heart, is there any way you could take a vacation right now? Get out of town 'til this blows over?"
She chuckles. "I wish I could, but we're short of hands at work and unfortunately, I'm short of cash. They do say it's better in the Bahamas, though." We both laugh for no reason, but something about her manner relaxes me and levels my sense of everything. She brings clarity to me, a quality I could desperately use at this point. God knows the waters are muddied.
Her tone turns serious. "Mel, what exactly is going on? You keep talking about a 'situation,' but I have no idea what it is you're trying to warn me about, aside from the fact that you've had two friends victimized by gunfire in the last 48 hours. It doesn't even sound as if the two are connected. Does Deborah know this other friend? And where did it happen?"
"Only as an acquaintance, but I think we're the connection."
"It's admittedly odd that two people close to you were shot at in the last two days, but it doesn't logically follow that they're connected," she points out, and I concede that her logic is correct. The problem is that her premise is flawed. Of course, if I had a working theory to present to her, she might draw the same conclusion, but I don't have a single concrete fact to give her, only suspicions and hunches.
"We think it's related to something we're working on," I admit to her.
"And what's that?" Her question is casual as she continues to eat her dinner.
"That's a good question. We're trying to get some answers, but so far, nada. All we know is, whatever it is, someone doesn't want us near it. To be honest, I'd like to drop it here and now, but I'm not sure that's even an option at this point."
"Well, knowing what I do of you, Mel, that's all the reason you'd need to try and get your claws into it." Fortunately, in her own work, Mel is possessed of the same terrier-with-a-rat qualities. She understands. "Just be careful," she says. "We don't need anyone else getting hurt."
"I'm really spooked this time."
"Yeah, well, you never saw my ex in a push-up bra. Now that's spooky." We both burst out laughing. I know she takes my concerns seriously, but I value her ability to put a weird spin on it. The more I know her, the more convinced I become that she could be the one I've been looking for all my life.
"I wish I had more specifics. I could actually tell you what to be watching for," I say, resigned.
"Well, knowing what to be on the lookout for is always helpful, but in emergency medicine, life's always a surprise. I'm used to it."
I'm glad she is. I'm certainly not. At this rate, I doubt I ever will be.
We end up staying on the line for over an hour, and we switch to more mundane, comfortable topics. I inform her that Deborah's parents are in town and they haven't murdered Langly yet, though he thinks they were getting close. Mel laughs.
"I met Gerard and Sarah Jane one time. Really, they're good people. And you can't blame them for being upset right now."
"No, but then again, I somehow doubt they were expecting their daughter's boyfriend to be so... so Langly."
She laughs. "He's a sweet boy, and I know how much he adores Deborah. They'll come around." She pauses for a second. "Her mother will, at any rate. Her father? Maybe not in this lifetime." We laugh some more. "I tell you, compared to Mark, Langly's positively a prize."
"Mark hasn't gotten off the sofa yet?" Her son is an ill-tempered, lazy lout.
"Mark barely gets out of bed. The sofa's an accomplishment at this point." She groans.
"How's the wedding coming?"
"Now you're entering dangerous territory." Her laughter fills my ear. It's as warm and rich as though she were in the room. "At the present rate, Lisa may not live to see it. Not unless she learns the value of restraint around me." She pauses for a second. "You are coming to the wedding, aren't you, Mel?"
This is the first she's spoken of inviting me. I'm flattered, of course. "Assuming I make it through whatever the hell's happening around us, I'll be happy to come."
"You will."
I wish I had her confidence.
BYERS:
Sari and I sit at the table, pretending to have dinner. What we're actually doing is staring at the curried lentil soup and chapatis Frohike provided. We occasionally glance up at each other, hesitant to catch each other's eye. At this point I'm not sure what we are. Angry? Frustrated? Frightened? You could measure the dimensions of the tension between us with calipers. Sari takes an occasional sip from her bowl, genuinely trying to eat, while I'm mostly just letting the soup drip from my spoon back into mine.
"I know you're not eating, John," she says. "You might at least pretend you're swallowing once in a while." She says it with a slight smile, and it lightens my mood somewhat. I've gotten her to agree to at least be more careful, but that's not enough for my comfort.
I nod to Sari and sip at the soup. I'm sure it's fine, but tonight it tastes like wet, peppery sawdust. I can see the disappointment in her face. She wanted to go out tonight to celebrate her promotion, and she wanted me to go with her. I refused, and insisted that she stay here. Neither of us is happy right now. She understands that my concern is genuine, but I don't believe that she takes it seriously. To her, this is just another of my overly paranoid moments. There's nothing I can do to demonstrate that my paranoia has a basis this time, that she may be at risk of being shot or killed herself. She's made her concessions, and doesn't seem too likely to budge any further.
Finally, dinner barely touched, I can't keep my fear to myself any longer. "Sari, I'd really feel better if I could talk you into staying here for the night."
She looks up over her bowl and takes my hand. "I don't have anything with me to wear tomorrow, John, and I really can't stay here every time you get worried. I mean, you're always worried about something."
It's true. I am. "Well then, how about if I go to your place with you and stay on your couch for the night? I'm sorry, I just have a really bad feeling about all this."
Her face reddens in a deep blush. "Honestly, John, I don't need a baby sitter." She gets up and hurries into the kitchen to put her dishes in the sink.
"Sari, can't we talk about this?" I know there's still some residual upset about my grabbing her wrist.
"We've talked, John. When you have something more to show me, I'll be ready to listen some more. I've already promised to be more careful and watch my back. I don't know what else I can do right now and still maintain some kind of normalcy. I've only recently had my life back. I don't want to give it up to fear again." She gathers her things and starts for the door.
"Wait, Sari," I call to her. She pauses. "I just want to walk you to your car, okay?"
She nods, taking my proffered hand, and we walk out to her car. The night is quiet and no one is visible on the street. I feel slightly better, but I'm still convinced that I shouldn't be letting her leave here alone. After we share an embrace, she gets into her car and drives off into the night.
I stare down the street for a few minutes after she's gone. I hope I can find something to show her before she gets hurt. It's a possibility I don't want to entertain, but I just can't shove the images out of my head. I see the day we were shot at before her press conference, and Susanne being stolen off the street in front of me, jumbled and confused. I don't understand why Sari effects me like this.
Maybe she's right, and the stress really is getting to me more than I thought. I just wish she hadn't left alone. I need her to understand how important she is to me, how much her friendship means in my life. I need... I don't even know what I need. All I do know is, it feels like it's 3 a.m. in my soul.
End part 8